


shards of pain (hidden like crystals)

by Sword_Kallya



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Dick Grayson is a Good Brother, Drug Use, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Tim Drake is a Good Brother, abuse recovery, it's complicated - Freeform, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-20 18:27:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30009084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sword_Kallya/pseuds/Sword_Kallya
Summary: After Damian pushes Tim off the dinosaur, Bruce sits him down for a talk about masks and how they’re not passed down by murder.Damian doesn’t interpret this the way Bruce was hoping.
Relationships: Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Damian Wayne
Comments: 13
Kudos: 225





	shards of pain (hidden like crystals)

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from _Someone Else’s Shoes_ by Cathy Song.
> 
> Take DC decisions; apply logic.
> 
> CW: Non-recreational drug use by a minor

Once Drake was ensconced in the infirmary with Pennyworth watching over him, Father turned to Damian. He pulled down the cowl. Without the harsh angles of black, his face looked old and tired. 

“Damian.” He turned the word into a sigh.

Damian held himself ramrod straight. He had defeated the current Robin, and now Father would declare the title his. That was his _right._

“I know you were raised in the League of Assassins, but we don’t pass on titles by combat. You’ll only become Robin if Tim says you can.”

Ice sluiced down Damian’s spine. He had – he had known the rules would be different in Gotham, but he hadn’t realized that even the way positions changed hands would be different. And now he’d destroyed any chance of becoming Robin. Drake would never just _give_ the title to him. 

“I apologize,” Damian said stiffly, trying to calm his racing heartbeat. “If I had known, I would not have attacked Drake.”

“I know that,” Father said. His voice was… gentle. Damian was confused. A failed bid for power should result in shouting, punishment – perhaps Father was waiting until Drake was capable of dealing out the punishment himself? Was that how such things were done, in Gotham? Not knowing made Damian feel _unsteady._ He hated it.

Father sat down on an outcropping of rock and gestured for Damian to sit next to him. “How much do you know about my other children?”

“Richard Grayson is Nightwing, Jason Todd is the Red Hood, Timothy Drake is Robin, Cassandra Cain is Black Bat, and Stephanie Brown is Batgirl. You also often work with Barbara Gordon, who is Oracle,” Damian recited. He had memorized Mother’s files on the Bats before coming to Gotham. “Grayson keeps to Bludhaven, but the others assist you in your work in Gotham.”

“Good, that’s good. But do you know what they _do?_ What they bring to us as a team?”

Damian froze. Mother’s files had also included estimates of capabilities, but he didn’t know what answer Father wanted from him.

“All the other Bats are either better than me at something, or can do something I can’t,” Father said. “Dick’s flexibility makes him an incredible escape artist, and he’s much better at getting information out of people than I will ever be. The people of Gotham’s lower classes trust Jason much more than they trust the Bat, so they’ll tell him things they won’t tell us. Tim is much better than I am at gathering evidence, so we have enough to keep the criminals we catch behind bars. Cassandra’s early training makes her a better fighter than I will ever be. Stephanie’s father is a minor Rogue, which means that she gets information about major threats that we couldn’t get any other way. And Barbara devotes all of her time and energy to digital threats and protection. No one is replaceable. Everyone brings something unique that we couldn’t get any other way.”

Damian ducked his head. He understood now. Todd and Cain both had previous League training, so Damian would be unable to provide a unique asset of his own. “I understand. I will not attack any of your… other children.”

A large hand landed on his hair and Damian stiffened, but there was no pain. “Good. I’m glad you understand now. Can I trust you to make sure nothing happens to Tim until I get back?”

“Yes, Father. He will come to no harm.”

“Good. Thank you, Damian.” The cowl went back on, and Father headed for the Batmobile. Damian returned to the infirmary. If he were to be a bodyguard, he would be the best he could, and perhaps Father would eventually see fit to assign him more interesting tasks.

Pennyworth had finished treating Drake’s injuries, so Damian was unable to prove his ability as a medic. Damian settled for familiarizing himself with the layout of the infirmary, in case Drake took a sudden turn for the worse or Father returned injured. Bandages, suture thread, gauze…

One drawer was full of preloaded vials of solutions, set to be clipped into syringes and administered with minimum lead time. The vials were labeled with short codes, too abbreviated for Damian to crack without access to the computer system, and Father was unlikely to allow that when Damian was not a… vigilante? Hero? Bat? Any of the above? He might be able to hack in, given that he had physical access, but Gordon would likely notice and report to Father.

However, he had another source of information. “Pennyworth? What do these vials contain?”

“Hm?” The servant peered over at him and Damian held up a vial marked _JVA15._ “Ah. That drawer contains antidotes for the various poisons and drugs that the Rogues enjoy attacking this family with. That particular vial contains an antidote for Joker venom. Please do return it to its proper position; we do not always have time to check the labels, so the antidotes are arranged very precisely.”

“Of course.” Damian replaced the vial exactly where it had come from. Now that he knew what they were for, he could guess at what the labels meant. _JVA_ was Joker venom antidote, _SCFA_ must be an antidote to Scarecrow’s fear gas, _SCRA_ … hadn’t one of the files mentioned a rage-inducing toxin? And then there were dozens labeled _PIP_ with an addended letter, for Poison Ivy’s various pollens. Damian counted, because he had nothing better to do. There were fifteen different classifications of Poison Ivy’s pollens, many of which had multiple antidote types.

An idea began to form in the back of Damian’s mind. If Father required so many antidotes…

* * *

“Absolutely not.”

Damian looked over his file again. “I admit that altering some of the chemicals to avoid long-term effects might provide a better outcome, but–”

“I said _no,_ Damian.” Father took the papers from his hands. “I admire your dedication, but it’s not going to happen.”

Damian straightened. “The schedule allows for–”

“I know.” Father’s voice was terribly gentle again. He only used that tone when he was _correcting_ Damian. Damian thought he would rather be shouted at, instead of this false care. “I know you would have done your research. I know this plan is as safe as you can make it. But we don’t actually _know_ what these drugs can do to a developing brain, especially long-term. I’m not risking your mind like that.”

Damian felt a quiet warmth deep in his chest. Father thought his mind was an asset, enough to be protected? But that didn’t change the fact that he wasn’t being of any use to Father as he was. “I want to _help.”_

Father’s hand rested on his hair. “I know you do. But taking mithridatic doses of mind-altering drugs is the wrong way to go about it. We don’t know what it will do to you.”

“But–”

“Damian. _No.”_

* * *

And then Father was gone, and Grayson was Batman, and Cain was in Hong Kong. With Drake and Grayson at odds, Damian was never going to get a better chance. Father had destroyed the original paper copies Damian had shown him, but Damian had backups. Of course he did. He knew better than to have _only one copy_ of sensitive material. Damian printed out another set and went to Grayson.

“What? _No.”_ Grayson looked over Damian’s dosage plan with mounting horror. “I – why would you want to do this?”

Damian straightened. Reporting his logic was an easy task. “Father said that every member of the team brings a unique skill to the group. Given that both Todd and Cain have prior League training, I chose to create a new one. Mithridatic doses of the more common toxins will leave me unable to be affected by fear gas, Joker venom, or Ivy’s more common pollens as my system grows accustomed to them. Having someone unable to be affected by the toxins on the streets–”

“No. Absolutely not.”

Damian flinched. Father was often angry but hearing that much _rage_ in Grayson’s voice – up until now, the man had been lighthearted to a fault. This was… unpleasant. “It will _work._ I can be useful–”

“You don’t have to be useful, Damian. You don’t have to be a Bat to stay here.” Grayson laid the papers on the table, then gently took Damian’s hands. “You _belong_ here, Damian.”

Damian tried not to flinch back. Why did no one in this family _shout_ at him like reasonable people? “Father said that I could not join you on patrol because I had nothing unique to offer. This will provide a new asset–”

“You don’t have to _provide a new asset_ to be a valuable member of the team. What did Bruce even…” Grayson sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Leaned back. Knocked his head lightly against the hardwood desk several times. “You’re Robin.”

Damian jumped. He couldn’t have heard correctly. “What?”

“I’m making you Robin to my Batman. But I don’t want to hear about this–” Grayson gestured to the papers “–again.”

“Of – of course.” Damian didn’t smile or run shouting from the room, he wasn’t a _child._

But he did grin slightly when Grayson wasn’t looking.

_Robin!_

* * *

Dick was settling in to eat alone for the first time since Bruce’s return. It was difficult, but he had built a life for himself in Bludhaven. It would be nice to return to it. Hopefully. It was just that his apartment was awfully quiet, after looking after even a quiet ten-year-old for months.

He pulled out his phone. Alfred would snarl about proper etiquette, but it wasn’t like there was anyone there to care. And Dick needed something to fill the time.

The text message alert chimed. Dick swiped it open, not really paying attention to the preview. He held the phone way too close to his face as he chewed his ramen.

And then he was paying it his _full_ attention.

Dick stared at the text message, hoping it would change.

_Father has returned the title to Drake. I am going forward with the secondary plan._

Dick immediately sent a response. It didn’t go through.

None of Dick’s panicked text messages went through. Damian had probably turned his phone off. Tim wasn’t responding to Dick’s texts, which was fair, but he wasn’t the only one at ho – at the Manor.

Dick started typing desperately as he grabbed his jacket and ran for his car. He left the ramen on the table. There were bigger problems. To Alfred: _hey alfie, can u plz check in on Dami for me? <3 _To Bruce: _where’s Damian? r u taking him out 2nite?_ To Tim, in case he was actually checking his messages from Dick (it would be a cold day in hell, but Dick wanted to cover his bases): _can u look in on Dami for me? just wanna know he’s alive. promise I wouldn’t ask u if it weren’t important_

He was in the car and driving before the first responses came in.

> Dick > Brucedad!!!
> 
> Brucedad!!!: After the fit he threw, Damian is not going out for the foreseeable future. I am already out. Tim is staying in to rest after his ordeal.
> 
> Dick > Best Grandpa
> 
> Best Grandpa: I believe he is sulking in the basement, but he did not respond to my attempts to persuade him to come upstairs. If you will excuse me, I am handling Master Bruce’s… night business.

That left Tim. Shit.

> Dick > Timmers
> 
> Dick: tim im sorry
> 
> Dick: tim ill grovel if u want i need u to check on d
> 
> Dick: tim
> 
> Dick: tim plz answer
> 
> Dick: tim i kno u dont have me blocked
> 
> Dick: tim if its for emergencies this is gonna be a medical emergency in like 2 min if some1 doesnt find him
> 
> Timmers: Why am I finding a kid who’s tried to kill me more than once?
> 
> Dick: tim please just go find him ill explain once im there
> 
> Dick: a said hes in the basement but hes busy with b stuff
> 
> Timmers: …
> 
> Timmers: Fine but you owe me one

Dick gripped the steering wheel. He was going fifteen miles above the speed limit. He turned on his police scanner to check for speed traps and pressed the gas.

* * *

Tim snarled as he headed down into the Cave. Bruce benched him for the night – something about a missing spleen and Gotham Harbor not being a good mix. Tim knew he was right, but he was so _bored._ Bruce wouldn’t even let him run comms, even though he gave Robin back.

_Robin._ Tim felt something warm curl inside his chest.

Tim knew he was going deliberately slowly. He didn’t want to find the gremlin, but Dick seemed to be panicking. Something about a medical emergency. If he hadn’t used those words, Tim would still be upstairs with his coffee and Wayne Enterprises reports. It was like Dick forgot that Tim had an _actual job_ besides being a vigilante.

Finally, Tim’s feet hit the bottom of the staircase. He scuffed them deliberately loudly, making sure that Alfred knew he was there. They all knew not to surprise the person on monitor duty. That way led Bad Things, and trips to Leslie.

“Good evening, Master Tim. I trust you’re not here to attempt to convince me to allow you monitor access.” Alfred didn’t look away from the Batcomputer screen. Probably wise, given the number of guns currently showing through Bruce’s camera feed.

“Nope,” Tim said, popping the _p._ “Dick wants someone to check in on the demon baby.”

“Ah, yes,” Alfred said. “Batman, there are three more with pistols in the hall – yes, that’s why I am looking through the building security cameras, thank you for noticing. He contacted me earlier asking the same favor, but as I am occupied for the night, I was unable to assist. I am glad you were willing to help.”

And ouch. Alfred hadn’t been happy when Tim refused to talk to Damian, he knew, but it was like the whole family had forgotten the _literal, actual murder attempts._

Attempts, plural. Tim could not stress this enough.

He wouldn’t even be in the _building_ if Bruce hadn’t asked. Just because he could understand that _maybe_ a baby assassin might not be personally after Tim didn’t mean Tim wanted to be _around_ the little demon.

“Any idea where he is?” Tim asked instead of wallowing. Maybe this would be enough of a family-ish deed for the day that they’d let him escape back to his apartment. “I just need to get him to respond to Dick’s texts and we’ll be fine.”

“Last I saw, he was in the infirmary. It is a starting place for your search.” Alfred turned back to the monitors. Tim ran a weather eye over the situation – drug bust, nothing special. Nothing that would require Robin to head out after Batman. Disappointing.

Tim turned his back and headed for the infirmary. Nothing seemed out of place – except an open drawer?

An open drawer full of _liquid fear gas samples._ “If he’s planning to poison me, I swear I’m not coming back to the Manor for another _year,”_ Tim growled. Now he _had_ to find Damian. Demon brats should not have access to poison. What else was out of place?

The infirmary had a drop ceiling installed for sanitary reasons. A drop ceiling rated to hold Batman’s full weight if necessary. A perfect place for a tiny assassin to hide if he wanted to stab someone. Tim stared at it for a full minute before he realized what was bothering him. One of the panels was slightly out of place from where Tim remembered it being.

“I know you’re up there, brat.”

No response. This was supposed to be a _quiet_ night, for Tim to catch up on WE work and not stress his immune system. Not for climbing up into stupid ceilings to check on stupid murder brats. Tim went to get one of the grapples – Leslie would _actually_ murder him for putting his feet on her equipment – and clambered into the drop ceiling. “All right, gremlin, playtime’s over. Answer your damn phone so Dick stops texting me, and put the fear gas sample back where you found it or Bruce is going to string you up by your toes when he gets back.”

There was the distinct sound of a whimper from the deeper shadows.

Crawling through ceilings was a lot harder at 17 than it had been before Tim hit his adult growth (yes he _had_ hit his adult growth, fuck you very much, Jason). Tim grunted, scooting closer to where he’d heard the sound. Sounds. There were now soft rustling noises coming from the far corner and the light from Tim’s phone was _not enough._ It took almost two full minutes of fumbling with the phone for Tim to catch the brat in its faint beam.

Tim stopped short.

Damian constantly wore turtlenecks, even in summer. He claimed it was due to having been raised in a desert. His body was unaccustomed to the cold and damp of Gotham. He preferred clothing that would keep him warm.

In hindsight, Tim should have known it was a lie. He had lived in Nanda Parbat for months. It was built into a mountain. Mountains were cold. Ra’s had sent him on training missions above the timberline; Tim should have known Damian wouldn’t have been put through anything less. Besides, Tim had seen what Ra’s ordered done to people that displeased him. And the scars left behind afterwards, on those who survived.

Damian was in the Robin uniform, mostly. He’d taken off the cape and tunic, leaving the belt, pants (thank _fuck_ Tim had won his campaign for pants on the uniform, he didn’t know if he’d be able to deal with a mostly naked ten-year-old) boots and mask. The cape and tunic were folded up precisely in front of him. The syringe of fear toxin was set beside them, empty. There was a plain waterproof band-aid on Damian’s elbow.

Pale silvery-white gleamed in the faint glow of Tim’s phone. Scars. Hundreds of scars. Barely an inch of the brown skin of Damian’s chest went unmarked.

Then Damian let out a soft almost-sigh and leaned forward. His back was almost entirely ropy keloid tissue, with tiny flashes of healthy skin where the _fucking whip scars_ weren’t. “I will accept whatever punishment Father finds necessary.”

Tim kicked out one of the panels of the drop ceiling.

* * *

There was a stick of rock candy on Damian’s saucer.

Damian could not drag his eyes away from it. Of everything that had been done for him since Drake discovered him in the infirmary, this was what startled him the most. Everything else was simple steps that might be taken for any member of the family, but this…

Drake had _apologized_ when he produced the candy. “I know it’s not what you’re used to, it’s just processed sugar and it doesn’t have any of the spices. But I remember Ra’s using something like it, and I thought… maybe it might help.”

The candy was a horrid artificial blue color. It was unlikely to make Ceylon tea any more palatable.

But Drake had tried.

Damian’s eyes stung.

Grayson tugged him closer, running a hand through his hair. “You scared us, baby bat. Let us take care of you?”

Damian was dressed in one of Grayson’s sweatshirts. Once Drake had administered the fear gas antidote, he had procured a pair of soft flannel pants and a black turtleneck from Damian’s room, an enormous short-sleeved shirt from Father’s dresser, and the sweatshirt. He had also produced a pair of thick fleece-lined socks from his own room, with a glare that dared Damian to mention the loan of his own clothing. Then he’d located Titus and Alfred and set them up in a lounge with a copy of an art documentary while he called Grayson. Damian had buried his hands in Titus’s fur. The fur was real. Damian could touch it, smell it, hear it _shush_ against his skin. It was real. The… things he had seen… hadn’t been real.

He had reminded himself of that. That he had dosed himself with fear toxin, and that nothing he was seeing was real.

It hadn’t helped.

Pennyworth had summoned Father back from Gotham, which defeated the purpose of beginning the treatment regimen while Father was _in_ Gotham. He was still en route. Then Grayson had come in, panting like he’d run the whole way from Bludhaven to Gotham, and claimed the side of Damian not covered by Titus. Drake had slipped away at some point during Grayson’s frantic half-lecture, half-meltdown. There had been tears involved. Pennyworth had left to prepare tea. He’d procured a proper narrow-waisted tea set and samovar somewhere and set them up on a sideboard. Pennyworth had even somehow known to blend the tea with rose and cardamom.

Then Drake had returned with the rock candy. It was stupid. American gift shops sold these; Drake had likely just located it within his own room.

But for some reason, it made Damian’s eyes sting.

Grayson was crooning an unfamiliar melody into Damian’s hair. Grayson often did that when he was hurt. He had missed it when Grayson returned to Bludhaven.

Heavy booted feet thudded in the hallway. Damian let himself shudder. Grayson had always reacted positively to that.

He had no idea how Father would react. But Father had not entered the room – yet – so it was alright.

Pennyworth shouted, “Master Bruce, you are _aware_ of the rules!” which meant that Father had not bothered to change out of the Batsuit before coming to punish Damian. He must be so angry. Damian gently shooed Titus and Alfred off the couch. There was no need for them to also be recipients of Father’s rage.

“Damian,” Father growled even before they could see each other, “I _told_ you not to go out!”

“He _didn’t,_ B,” Grayson snapped. Was he – protecting Damian? Had Father sent him back to Bludhaven so he _could not_ protect Damian? That was – warm – Damian could not allow that. Perhaps if he convinced Grayson to allow him to take his own punishments, Father would allow his eldest to remain in Gotham.

“Then _how did he get fear gassed?”_ Father practically snarled. Damian felt his spine straighten against his will.

“You remember that drug plan you told me about?”

Silence. Damian remembered Father’s initial reaction to the plan and flinched. That was unlikely to be punished any less harshly than sneaking out against direct orders.

Then there was a sigh, and a soft fabric sound. Father came into view, cowl down to reveal his face. He didn’t look angry, or stone-faced as he often was to hide his anger. He simply looked… tired. Damian didn’t know what to do. Anger was familiar. The tiredness was almost as frightening as the gentleness he remembered from before Father’s trip through time. “Damian. I thought…” Father shook his head. “Why don’t you tell me, from the beginning, why you thought you needed to… dose yourself with these things.”

Grayson’s arms squeezed tighter around Damian’s chest. Damian’s eyes kept stinging. “You were. It was after I… hurt Drake. You said that everyone brought something unique to help you. And I. Todd and Cain both have League training, and I was never trained in forensics or infiltration, and I…”

Grayson made a wounded noise. “Oh, baby bat, that’s not it at _all.”_

Father nodded. “I… didn’t realize that I gave you that impression. When I said that, I was trying to get you to understand that hurting allies is not acceptable. When I take a new sidekick, it’s usually more about what _they_ need than what I need.”

Damian thought. That fit with the histories he knew, except – “Drake.”

“Tim did give me something I needed,” Father admitted, “but not as Robin. He – it’s complicated, and not something I want to discuss right now. I will say that I no longer… need him to be what he was for me then, and he knows it. Part of me refusing to make you Robin at first was because I was afraid he’d take it as a rejection from the family.” This was said with a significant look to Grayson, who had gone very still.

Damian was aware, of course, that Drake and Grayson had been close before Father’s disappearance. However, knowing that _he_ was the one that had divided them… He wondered how many times Grayson had sat in this exact position with Drake. Whether he wanted Drake or Damian here. “You gave Drake Robin back… to tell him he is still part of the family.”

“Yes.” Father nodded. “He’s as much a part of our family as you are, or as Dick is. _All_ of you, Dick and Jason and Tim and Cass and Steph and Damian, are my children equally. Not any more, not any less.”

Damian swallowed. His throat felt tight.

“We will find a way to handle the… situation with Robin that works for both you and Tim,” Father said. “One that doesn’t involve drugging yourself. You don’t have to offer something new to be valuable, Damian. You _are_ valuable.”

Damian finally couldn’t look his father in the eye. He hid his face behind the barrier of Grayson’s arms. He felt safe there, from the _intensity_ of what Father was saying. “I am. Pleased that you think so.” He was holding the rock candy so hard it left blue-lined imprints on his hands. His palms were painfully sticky with the sugar.

He couldn’t keep hiding behind Grayson forever, especially if he wanted Father to consider allowing him to stay in Gotham. He wormed his way out from behind warm arms. The small bereft sound Grayson made pierced his heart, but it was for his own good. If Damian convinced Father to allow him to stay, Grayson would have many more chances for hugs than if he were forced to return to Bludhaven. “I am willing to accept whatever punishment you find necessary for my behavior.”

Father’s laser-focus stare hit Damian. He refused to flinch. “What do you think you will be punished for?”

This, at least, was familiar ground. Damian tucked his hands behind his back, still holding the candy, and recited. “Obtaining a toxin sample from the Cave without permission, deliberately disabling the trackers on the Robin suit, going through with the immunization program against orders, and misjudging the dosages so badly that I was unable to maintain my grip on physical reality.” Damian thought hard, trying to determine if he had made any other missteps, deliberate or otherwise. “And… deliberately leaving my phone in my room in order to make myself difficult to contact.”

Grayson did not reach to hug Damian again. He quietly said, “Dami, no one is going to hit you.”

Damian carefully did not hope. Grayson had made it clear months ago that he preferred denial of privileges or scoldings as punishment, but Grayson was no longer Batman or Damian’s guardian. If Father chose to beat him, Grayson could not step in without risking himself. Damian did not want Grayson to risk himself.

The look on Father’s face was thunderous. Damian braced himself as subtly as he could. Not that it mattered. Both Father and Grayson had decades more experience than he did.

“Damian. I am not going to hit you. Dick is not going to hit you. Alfred is not going to hit you. You will be confined to the private areas of the Manor until your bloodwork is clear of fear gas, and you will have to repair the tracker on the Robin suit. That’s it.”

That – wasn’t a punishment. That was barely a _task._ “I don’t understand.”

Father sighed. Damian recognized it as a self-control technique taught in the League. “I remember the punishments in the League. None of that is going to happen in my house.”

There were many ways to cause pain. Damian knew this. The fact that Father banned League punishments did not ban many forms of torture, just the ones Damian knew he could take. This reassurance should not relax him as it did.

“B,” Grayson said softly. His chin moves over the crown of Damian’s head. Likely some kind of gesture that Damian was not intended to see.

Father made an abortive move to get up from his chair, then sat back down. “Damian. Is it alright if I touch you?”

“Of course,” Damian said immediately. Father could do what he liked. It was his household.

Grayson made a displeased noise. Father suddenly had the interrogating-criminals stone expression instead of that odd gentleness. “Let me rephrase that. Do you think it would be enjoyable, distressing, or neutral for me to touch you right now? I will not hurt you in any way.”

Damian thought that over. “What am I expected to do in response?”

“Nothing,” the response was immediate. “You can react however you like, or not at all.”

Hm. Odd. “Neutral,” Damian decided. He wasn’t entirely sure, but this did not sound like it would be a distressing experience.

Father could move at speeds that would rival Superman if he wished. In comparison, the way he approached Damian was almost painfully slow. He continually watched Damian watch him, searching for… what, weakness? Damian was not _weak._

But Father’s face was soft again as his arms wrapped loosely around Grayson’s. This was a hug. Father was hugging him. “Is this alright, Damian?”

The Batsuit smelled like safety to Damian. After long nights of learning that the man who wore it was _safe,_ would back him as far as humanly possible no matter the situation, having Grayson surrender the mantle to Father had hurt. It wasn’t the same. Grayson was not the one wearing the suit. But it was something.

The candy was still sticky between his fingers.

Damian missed Grayson and Father exchanging smiles above him.


End file.
